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"If you like the word," replied Tomba, in a tone of indifference. Then he yawned next placed the creese on the ground beside him, while his right hand explored his pockets. He soon brought to light a package of Manila cigarettes. Tomba's left hand produced a box of matches. "Do you care for one last smoke, Señor Sergente?" inquired the Filipino with mocking politeness, as he held out the package.
"But I want cigarettes, now," retorted Tomba almost fiercely. "It is ungenerous to deprive me of them." "Shall I let a man get them for him?" asked Hyman. "Yes; if he insists," nodded Hal. "What an idiot a man is to allow cigarettes to make such a slave of him that he can't pass an hour without one." A soldier was accordingly dispatched to the nearest tobacconist on Tomba's errand.
Certainly Tomba's shuddering had increased, though the little brown man, no match in muscle for the white soldier, made not the least effort to wrest himself away from that dangerous grip. "Eight!" announced Hal Overton, his voice on the verge of absolute cheeriness. Again Tomba spoke, this time still more angrily. There was a shuffling of feet, as the men moved further away.
Sergeant Overton now let go of the Filipino's shoulder, but only to throw his arm around the fellow's neck. Tomba's head was drawn back, almost chokingly, against the boyish sergeant's shoulder. "Three!" Still no motion among the dark-skinned eight. "Four!" And then: "Five! Tomba, your friends are cheerful about your fate, aren't they? Six!" Vicente Tomba spoke, sharply, hissingly.
Then, a little later in the afternoon, we heard him denouncing us to a white man because we weren't eager enough. Corporal, unless you know a lot about this man, I don't believe you want anything to do with him." Tomba's face was blazing hotly, while his eyes gleamed angrily at Sergeant Overton's words. "If that's the kind of fellow he is, then I don't want a pass to-night," Hyman replied.
Sergeant Hal could not help admiring the evident courage of this little Filipino, who knew well enough that his life was hanging on a thread from second to second. Hal's left hand now rested tightly on the little brown man's shoulder. Tomba's body was no slight protection against the pistols of these surly fellows in case they evidenced a disposition to shoot.
It was Tomba's belief that he could run a gang of creese men past us, and get inside where he could knife the nearest soldiers, and then let an attacking party in." "If the Moros had ever gotten through our line they'd have wiped the camp out to-night," exclaimed Captain Freeman.
"Men who are found in Tomba's company are subjects for suspicion," remarked Lieutenant Prescott dryly. "Though we've found no weapons with this crowd we'll round 'em up and take 'em in." This was done. Captain Freeman decided to read these natives a lesson and then let them go. "Why not make the rascals most humbly salute the Flag, sir?" suggested Sergeant Overton respectfully.
"Yes; it is simple." "Then step to the door. But, Tomba!" "Si, señor." "Do not let any wild plan run through your mind that you will open the door suddenly, bolt through it and close it in my face. Do you still feel the creese? Well, I am on the alert!" In truth that had been Vicente Tomba's very plan.
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